


cupid's arrow straight to the heart

by OnyxSphynx



Series: newmann one-shots [27]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Mob Boss AU, newt is smitten, so uh def not slow burn lol, this was titled "oil fire" in my docs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 03:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18023894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphynx/pseuds/OnyxSphynx
Summary: Newt gets shot in a meeting. Tendo and Mako are less than happy. Enter Hermann Gottlieb, Newt's new bodyguard.





	cupid's arrow straight to the heart

**Author's Note:**

> for the anon prompts: "maybe Newmann #28 from prompt list 5? 😁  
> "Newmann #28 :D"
> 
> 28: “Let him/her go! It’s me who you want!”

The meeting is unbearably boring; something about the Shao’s recent drone tech acquisition, which Newt couldn’t care less about. However, as the—technical—head of the criminal underground, it’s kind of an unspoken rule that he has to show up for these things, no matter how mind-numbingly dull they are—

—and someone’s pulled out a gun.”Well, this is interesting,” Newt mumbles under his breath, perking up slightly. Realistically, it’s not going to go anywhere, but one can always—oh, shit. The gun’s pointed at him.

He ducks, but it’s too late; the bullet is clipping his side, the pain blinding, sand he stumbles back, barely registers the shouts around him, the blood welling up through the wound, and, half-delirious with pain, he thinks,  _damn it, I liked that suit—_

His eyes flick open to bright white and the scent of iodine, Tendo’s face hovering blurrily at the edge of his vision. He attempts to shift, only to aggravate his side, and hisses a startled, “Fuck, that hurts—” Tendo’s by his side within seconds, holding out his glasses and a cup of water, and Newt congratulated himself on having chosen an excellent lieutenant.

“We need to talk,” Tendo says, and Newt flops back—as much as he’s able—and scowls.

“About what? You caught the dude, right?” he snaps, and feels the energy it takes for the other to repress an eye-roll.

“Yes, of course we caught him,” Tendo huffs. “What I mean is, you need a bodyguard.”

Newt’s scowl deepens. “Why? I’ve been just fine without one for—oh, what is it, five years?”

The patient expression on Tendo’s face does little to mask the murderous intent in his eyes. “Well, you’ve never been shot before, either,” he points out, speaking slowly, as if to a small child. “There’s a first time for everything.” Newt goes to protest, but whatever drugs he’s hopped up on pull him back, and he feels the scowl slip off his face despite his best efforts.

And that’s how, three days later, Newt finds himself in his office interviewing applicants. “Isn’t there, like, someone else who can do this?” he asks Mako crossly, dismissing yet another applicant.

Mako shrugs. “There was. Alice, remember? You fired her after she tried to sleep with you and tied you to a chair in your closet. You whined about the cost of cleaning the blood off of the ceiling for months.”

“Well, she deserved it,” he says, darkly, spinning in circles in the office chair. “You see how you like practically getting abducted by your secretary and shoved into a tiny, musty closet. Damn, how many more applicants are there.”

“Just me, Mr. Geiszler,” a new voice says, and Newt spins around to face the speaker.

He’s tall, handsome in a peculiar, angular way, dressed in a light shirt and an olive sweater-vest, and in his right hand is a nondescript cane. He’s the sort of person who, no matter what he’s wearing or where he is, would know how to fade perfectly into the background. Newt clears his throat, batting aside half-formed thoughts. “Nah, call me Newt, dude, really, no one calls me Mister,” he grins.

In his periphery, he sees Mako roll her eyes and mouth something. He’s not sure what.

“Gottlieb,” the other replies. “I’m here about the position.”

They get along swimmingly. That is to say, if it weren’t for the contract, Newt’s pretty sure Hermann—that’s his name, and Newt refuses to call him Gottlieb. What are they, Holmes and Watson?—would have buried one of the many, many knives concealed on his person in his throat.

So, Newt muses, perhaps it isn’t the best idea to flirt with him.

Ah, well, he’s never been one to listen to common sense—fortune favours the brave, yada yada, but it also favours you if you’re a rich crime lord, so. And if Hermann were really as bothered by it as he pretends to be, he’d have resigned by now.

That is, of course, assuming Hermann even realizes he is flirting.

“Flowers?” Hermann questions flatly. “Who for?”

Newt gapes at him. “Uh, you, duh.”

“No, who am I supposed to deliver them to?” Hermann snaps irately. Newt resists the urge to bang his head against the desk.

“They’re not—oh, you know what, nevemind,” he huffs. “Look, I’m going out for dinner and my reservation’s in twenty minutes so just…I dunno, toss them or something. I don’t care.”

Hermann shakes his head, as if he should be the one exasperated, but asks, “Is there a certain dress-code?” Newt shakes his head. “Alright, then, I shall inform Mr. Hansen to fetch the car.”

“Maybe you can ask him to fetch you some awareness as well,” Newt mutters.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Dinner is a pleasant way to say “tense negotiations between hostile factions”. Shao’s minions have been encroaching in his territory—see: Alice—and, as much as Liwen claims ignorance, Newt is sceptical. “You don’t just accidentally send one of your top lieutenants into enemy headquarters to try and steal security codes,” he complains. “What does she take me for, fresh meat?”

“I should expect so, given you are nearly half a decade younger,” Hermann comments drolly. “And your methods, while highly successful, are also extremely unorthodox.”

“This is about Chau, isn’t it?” Newt accuses. “You’re upset I didn’t let you off him, so you’re just rubbing it in that I’m the youngest.”

Hermann shrugs but doesn’t counter it. The incident in question is a deal that Newt made with Hannibal Chau early on in his career. Chau, one of the foremost suppliers of Kaiju Blue, a highly addictive, custom drug, decided he wasn’t getting enough of a cut in the sales and decided that Newt needed to be taken out.

Hermann cured him of the notion rather quickly and bloodlessly, all things considered. He does, however, still rub a loving thumb over the button that brings a wickedly sharp blade springing forth from the tip of his cane whenever Chau’s around.

* * *

Dinner goes…well, surprisingly.  _Too_  well.

It sets Hermann on edge. That’s the only reason he manages to shove Newton to safety before one of Shao’s goons grab him by the neck, lifting him up into the air. His cane clatters to the ground.

“Find Geiszler,” Shao orders, eying him coldly. “And dispose of the bodyguard.”

“Wait!” Newton shouts, recklessly, and Hermann tries to mouth  _shut up and don’t give away your location!_  but it’s too late. “Let him go! It’s me who you want!”

Shao’s eyes sweep the area, zeroing in on where Newt’s hidden, and she silently gestures to the other henchman. “Come out and hand over the throne or your little…friend here dies,” she threatens.

_Don’t do it—_

Of course Newton, naively trusting, begins to shift, unfolding himself from the small space, and in a last-ditch attempt, darkness spotting his vision, Hermann finally manages to unhook one of the blades hidden up his sleeve, ignoring the pain as the steel bites into his palm as it slips out, and rams it, with all his strength, into the henchman’s crotch.

He lets out a how of pain, dropping Hermann, and the bodyguard stumbles to his feet, pulls out another knife and, praying to the powers that be that his aim is still at least moderately accurate, flings it at the goon gripping Newt.

He goes down with a yell of pain, but Hermann’s more concerned with the way Newt slumps limply to the ground.

He drags himself to the shorter man’s side, checking for any injuries, and when he finds none, digs through his pocket, dialling Hansen’s number.

“Hello?”

“Car, Mr. Hansen—and bring the first-aid kit.”

* * *

When Newt wakes up, Hermann’s pacing the room, shoulders stiff with tension. “Hey, handsome,” Newt greets, cracking a weak grin. “So, what was it this time—poison, or—”

Hermann’s by the side of the bed in to strides, a smouldering scowl on his face. “Don’t ever do that again,” he hisses, leaning over to lock eyes with Newt, face inches from his own. “You could’ve died—”

“But I didn’t,” Newt cuts in. “I didn’t die, because you were there.”

Hermann rocks back. “I can’t guarantee I will be every time.”

“Well, I’m glad you care,” Newt teases. Hermann stares at him.

“What—of course I care—” he lets out a frustrated huff. “I consider you something of a friend, Newton.”

“Be still my beating heart!” Newt cries dramatically. “Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome considers little old me a friend?”

Hermann tugs at his sleeve and says, awkwardly, “I’m—I’m not.”

“What?”

“Handsome,” he clarifies. “I have no clue where you got the idea—I look…boney.”

“You look elegant,” Newt scoffs. “And you clean up nicely. Also, I think my meds are gonna knock me out in a minute so, uh, since you didn’t seem to get the message, I think you’re hot. Will you go out with me?”

Hermann blinks at him for a second before coughing, a ears red. “I—” he flounders for a second. “That would be…enjoyable.”

Newt musters up a weak grin and a wink before the meds drag him back under.


End file.
